


His Smile's Your Rope, So Wrap It Tight Around Your Throat

by therighteouswriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Untouched, Dry Humping, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, clothed getting off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therighteouswriter/pseuds/therighteouswriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always, I apologize for any blatant, or in my case, stupid mistakes. Lol Also, I have no idea where this came from. It just sorta happened. </p><p>The title comes from the lyrics of the Fall Out Boy song <em>Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things To Do Today</em>. <3</p>
    </blockquote>





	His Smile's Your Rope, So Wrap It Tight Around Your Throat

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I apologize for any blatant, or in my case, stupid mistakes. Lol Also, I have no idea where this came from. It just sorta happened. 
> 
> The title comes from the lyrics of the Fall Out Boy song _Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things To Do Today_.  <3

Most days, Dean wasn’t one to complain. He didn’t bitch about the way his father raised him on the road, or regret not having a permeant place to call home. His whole life he’d dealt with the shitty motel rooms; lived with the fact that he’d never get to sit down in front of a home cooked meal, and didn’t worry about not staying in one place long enough to make any real friends.

 

No, Dean wasn’t the type of guy to sit around feeling sorry for himself. The life he’d been given wasn’t glamourous, in fact, it was actually just plain tragic, but there was nothing he could do about it so he didn’t bother trying. He just laced up his boots every morning and went to work, cocky smile on his face to hide the fact that he was utterly and irrevocably ruined on the inside.

 

But even Dean had his off days. Once in a blue moon, he let himself get angry. Let all the shit that was bothering him boil to the surface because he simply couldn’t hold it back anymore. And it just so happened that today was one of those days. Dean was _furious_. He’d woken up that way, his father and little brother unfortunate enough to be stuck with him in the Impala for a three hour road trip to Florida. Consequently on the receiving end of his wrath, along with anyone else he’d come in contact with that day.

 

And several hours later, now sitting on some lumpy, old motel mattress, bare back resting against the splintered headboard with his father passed out on the bed directly to his right, Dean was still seeing red.

 

So, he did what he had always done when he got like this. He drank. As soon as John started snoring, Dean had thrown on a pair of old sweatpants, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and gotten into bed; knees curled up to his chest as he wrapped his plush lips around the opening, chugging Jack Daniel’s like it was water.

 

Truthfully, he would have been content to sit there and devour the whole bottle had it not been for his little brother Sam emerging from the bathroom about a half an hour later, the younger boy shooting him a disapproving look as soon as he opened the door.

 

“Stop it,” Sam huffed as he made his way over to Dean’s bed, droplets of water rolling down his bare chest, soaking into the elastic of his pajama pants. His hair was still sopping wet, looking as though a tornado had just blown through it; and if Dean hadn’t been so pissed off, and slightly buzzed, he would have probably scolded the younger boy for not brushing it. Knowing all too well that Sam would be bitching about it being tangled later, and would sucker Dean into brushing it for him with those big dumb puppy dog eyes.

 

“Don’t tell me what to do, pipsqueak,” Dean grumbled, taking another swig of whiskey while Sam crawled into bed, sitting next to him on his left.

 

“Dee, please? I know you’re…having a bad day but would you just stop? Drinking yourself into a coma isn’t going to make whatever you’re going through any easier. And since I know you won’t talk to me about it, can we please just try to get some sleep and hope that you’ll feel better tomorrow?”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Dean slowly turned his head to look at his little brother, not sure if he wanted to sock the kid in his face or to congratulate him on being a wise old man trapped in a fourteen year old’s body. Either way, he knew Sam was right, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. Plus, Dean figured the least he could do, after a day of being an inexcusable asshole to his little brother, was to take the kid’s advice and try to sleep it off.

 

“Yeah, alright, Sammy.”

 

It hurt his pride, but Dean managed to screw the top back on the bottle of whiskey, reluctantly setting the half empty container on the nightstand between their bed and John’s. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he then reached over to turn off the lamp, darkness washing over the room and giving way to the faint, strange noises of the backroad motel.

 

Dean scooted down to lay on the mattress, not bothering to get under the covers. Turning onto his side, he curled up into a ball, back toward Sam but taking care not to let their bodies touch. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him, but he remained silent, heartbeat rapid, temper blaring.

 

 ** _God_**. He hated feeling this angry. Like he could lose control in the blink of an eye and destroy anything or anyone who got in his way. Most of all though, he hated being mean to Sam, especially when it was unwarranted. It wasn’t fair. His little brother always handled his bouts of aggression with grace and understanding, and Dean felt like a horrible person for knowing he shouldn’t take his bullshit out on Sam but doing it anyway cause he knew the kid could take it. What kind of sick piece of shit was he? To make Sam suffer because he knew he’d be able to bounce back. Fuck. That was just wrong, yet Dean did it every time.

 

“Dee.”

 

Sam’s voice, low and smooth as honey, rattled Dean from his morbid thoughts. He could feel his little brother touching him, long, soft fingers ghosting over the curve of his left hip; goosebumps spreading like wildfire across his body in response. Holding his breath, Dean lay there motionless as Sam’s trailed his fingertips up and backward, gently caressing his shoulder; pale, sensitive skin flushing under his little brother’s touch.

 

Biting his bottom lip, Dean fought to hold back a moan when Sam pushed his fingers up into his hair, massaging his scalp near the base of his skull. He could feel the tension that had settled between his shoulders, knotting and twisting his muscles, begin to release; pleasure slowly seeping into his skin, washing over his rage like a warm breeze.

 

“…Wh-what? Sammy, what are ya doing?” Dean breathed out, forcing himself to flip over onto his back.

 

He felt Sam shift on the mattress, turning so that he was leaning over Dean. He looked up at his brother, unable to make out anything but the silhouette of Sam’s slender face in the darkness. Dean knew Sam was staring at him though, hazel eyes fixed and heated.

 

“M’not gonna let you be mad at me. Don’t care if you hate the rest of the world, but not me. I won’t let you.”

 

Dean let out a surprised gasp when Sam’s fingers brushed over his right nipple. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was terrified that their father might have heard all the noise Sam and he were making, but Sam’s palm flat against his chest, rubbing and kneading his pec quashed any fear that had momentarily plagued him. Instinctively, he reached up to grab his little brother’s forearm, hips arching off the bed as Sam pinched his nipple, rolling the sensitive, hardened tissue between his thumb and index finger.

 

“I’m not mad at you, Sammy. You know that,” Dean whispered; heart doing summersaults in his chest as his brother slid the hand that had been assaulting his nipple down his stomach, the older boy’s muscles flexing in defense of Sam’s warm, teasing touch.

 

“Prove it,” Sam challenged, now half lying on his brother, forehead pressed against Dean’s. “Show me you aren’t mad at me, big brother.”

 

Dean nearly lost his mind when he felt Sam cup him through his sweatpants, the realization that he was rock hard almost as shocking as the situation he was currently in. He wanted to protest, of course. Well, the rational part of him did anyway. Mortified that Sam had his hand on his cock with their father right fucking there in the room with them, but still, Dean just **couldn’t** make himself push his little brother away.

 

“ _Sammy_.”

 

Dean barely recognized the sound of his own voice, low and needy, as he rolled his hips, the slow, smooth slide of cotton across his aching cock sending joints of pleasure up his spine.

 

“Show me, Dean,” Sam repeated, giving his brother’s throbbing erection a tight squeeze.

 

Whimpering, Dean reached up blindly, threading his finger through Sam’s damp, messy hair, pulling him into a hot, sloppy open mouth kiss.

 

“I’m not…” Dean panted, voice barely a whisper; slowly swirling his tongue against Sam’s, the younger boy’s grip on his cock tightening, “…mad at ya, baby boy.”

 

“Tell me- _ah fuck, Dee_ \- tell me you love me.”

 

Dean could feel Sam grinding hard against his thigh; pajama pants soak through with pre-cum. His skin was tingling, sweat dripping down his chest as he struggled to gather his wits.

 

A part of him, the part that was still pissed off and mad at the world, wanted to say no. Even if that meant Sam getting angry and sleeping on the floor, leaving Dean to die from blue balls. But on the other hand, he had an undeniable urge to give Sam what he wanted. An urge that had been burning deep inside him for as long as he could remember. An urge that would let him push all of his petty bullshit aside, allow him to let go of all his pent up frustration and anger, because it was worth it if it meant making his little brother happy.

 

“I…love you, Sam. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you.”

 

Pressing his face against his brother’s chest, Sam came with a muffled groan, body going rigid against Dean. He could feel his brother’s cum, hot and wet, seeping into his sweatpants, the thought of Sam blowing his wad without him even putting a hand on his dick sending Dean over the edge; the older boy thrusting against Sam’s palm as he found his release as well. Body flushed from head to toe, goosebumps erupting across his skin as he rode out his orgasm.

 

“I love you too, Dean,” Sam yawned a few minutes later, the two of them holding each other tightly. “Now stop being a jerk and go to sleep.”

 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Dean held back a chuckle as he ran his fingers through Sam’s hair; his recent orgasm making him tired enough to ignore the uncomfortable, sticky feeling in his sweatpants.

 

“Bitch.”

 

And just like that, Dean was out cold. Satisfied and... **happy**.


End file.
